The Poverty Jet Set

I’m lucky(?) because I get to watch a lot of video on the internet. It’s what I get paid to do, which tends to make me a bit jaded at times. But every so often I come across a video that blows my mind. This video is one of those.

The time it took. The energy. The planning. The foresight. The danger. The vision. This is shear and utter genius (plus some good old fashioned hard work).

Blu, whoever you are, I salute you. Applause all around. You will go far.

Sadly, I haven’t made that statement in quite some time, though it remains extremely high on my list of lifestyle priorities. Over the past year, I’ve worked too far from home to effectively bike. Recently, my company moved to a suburb a *little* closer to my house, so after some prodding by my friend Stellargirl, a gorgeous sunny spring morning and an overwhelming need to get my blood pumping, I gave it a whirl today. Just shy of 12 miles according to Google Maps. And boy did it feel good. Now, as I sit and type this on my lunch break, I realize - oh shit. I have to bike all the way home again! My legs are still sore.

If I did this every day, though, I can tell you I would be fit as a fiddle. And I like the sound of that!

Coincidentally, once I got to work, I discovered that this is Bike to Work Week thanks to my pal Sara. Cool!

A family band piles in a van and spends their life surfing and traveling, documents it all on sexy 8- and 16mm film. Can’t get much better than that, folks. The film comes out in a limited release over the course of the summer. It’ll be here in Philly starting June 20th at the Ritz at the Bourse. I’m so there.

Also, here’s the website, but beware: nasty browser resizing, ugh! Surfwise

Last night, Audrey were already in bed early. Probably 11pm. Sometime around the witching hour I get woken by loud banging on our door. Still groggy, I crack my eyes open to see our room flooded with flashing red lights.

“Uh oh,” I think. “Something ain’t right.”

Sure enough, I stand at the window in my boxers and see what appears to be our whole house surrounded by fire trucks. Oh boy.

“Audrey, wake up! Get your clothes on!”

I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and run downstairs. The following thoughts ran through my mind:

1. my wife gets dressed hella slowly, even in an emergency
2. I’m glad they made me buy that home insurance
3. funny, I don’t feel that warm in here
4. wouldn’t it be wild if flames started coming out my closet
5. if our house burns down, we’ll move to India
6. that’s not so bad. could be worse.

So while I’m outside checking out my neighbor’s house on fire and smoking something fierce and the firemen putting it out and the campfire smell when there isn’t a campfire and the cold, damp night, I think, dang we’re lucky it’s been put out.

As one of the firemen are walking past back to his truck I say, “boy it’s great you guys came so quick.”

He laughs knowingly. “Yeah, we’re the ones who will always come. We always come when you call.”

I smiled and almost asked him if he read my blog last week.

My friend David tools around Philly on one of these bad boys (albeit an orange one), and man have I been salivating over this one on eBay. Hot damn.

‘Tis the season to be buying less gas, right?

It’s that freakin’ simple. I love this candidate more than I have loved any other candidate for any office at any level of government. Ever. This man will change the world. He will. Is it just talk? Is it just charisma with no action? It doesn’t matter! He’s offering the one thing I care about. The only thing I’ve been asking for. It’s that simple.

Yes, I’m evangelizing for the guy. Hell yes I am. Why? Because I am so sick and tired of the American government. I’m so disillusioned. I have been so utterly angry for the last decade. So angry at the complacency. The absolute disregard for democracy, for human dignity for the goddamn rights of not only American citizens but the rights of all humans. I feel like we’ve been abused, thrashed about in this hellish nightmare of a Bush administration. It’s been so bad for me, for the last 10 years I’ve been calling myself an anarchist rather than give one ounce of my energy to those f*ing criminals. Finally, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, I feel like we might make a comeback. Finally, I think this country can pull itself together.

Barack Obama is no savior. He’s just a guy. But that guy embodies the one thing I have been aching for: hope.

Okay, [/rant]. Now watch this:

And this:

In my recent music blogging travels, I’ve discovered a ton of cool new music. From time to time I’ve had conversations with some really amazing up-and-coming bands who want to play a show while passing through Philly. I decided now is the time.

New friends {{{sunset}}} and Gangi will be here, so we thought we’d show them a Philly good time. Come join us for a fun lil’ freakout party at The Marvelous with my friend Norm Fetter (the psychedelic mastermind behind the Enumclaw tour-de-force) and my very own dear wife Hunter Gatherer - who will be joined on stage with the amazingly talented Mary Lattimore (of The Valerie Project) - as we celebrate the coming summer of music.

It’s happening on May 17th at 8pm. Wouldn’t you like to come? Of course you would! Add this to your Facebook calendar, or check it out on Going.com.

[UPDATE: Gangi can't make it and had to cancel, but the show will go on!]

Our house is across the street from a small park. Most of the time, I really enjoy this fact. I run there. I shoot hoops occasionally. I watch the people playing games. Our bedroom window has a vaulted view of the playground, and we often stand and watch the neighborhood energy.

However, once in a while, watching the park has a dark side. Like the other night when we watched two kids in the shadows, shooting up.

Or like last night.

Audrey and I were getting ready for bed. It’s about 1am. I happen to look out the window and notice commotion. Some screaming. A big group of young people scattering. A white SUV screeching to a halt, then gunning towards people. Then smashing into and through someone’s backyard fence adjacent to the park.

I’m not sure what’s going on. We watch, stunned. The SUV is snagged on the fence and is revving in reverse to get out. When it finally does, it squeals it’s tires and speeds away, barely missing a girl who presses herself up against a cinderblock wall to avoid being crushed.

The crowd reconvenes near that fence. It become clear that the SUV had intentionally run someone over. Smashed into them like a weapon. These idiot kids are picking that someone up by his limp shoulders and ankles, dragging him to the basketball court, under amber street lights. We think he’s dead. We call 911.

“Hello, 911.”

“Yeah, someone just got run over by a car near our house.”

“On Cedar and Lehigh? Yeah, we got it.” *click*

Okay. Minutes pass and no police show up. The crowd of older teenagers are screaming. More neighbors are coming to see what’s going on. The kids, circled around the boy on the ground, pick him up again. Two or three bigger boys drag him (he’s alive, but clearly barely conscious, he cannot walk) across the park and towards our house. I get a clear view of this kid as they cross under our window. He’s messed up. The kids drag him down the small side street.

“This is ridiculous. I’m calling 911 again. Why are they moving him when he is so hurt?”

“Hello, 911.”

“Yeah, someone just got run over by an SUV and the cops haven’t arrived and now some kids have dragged his barely concious body away from the crime scene.”

“Oh really? Well, he must have wanted to leave.”

“What?”

“Was he dead?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“What the? Are you emergency services or what? They just dragged a barely concious kid away from a crime scene!” My heart is racing and I’m getting agitated by the flipant tone of the 911 operator. Now I see police pull up the crime scene. They shine flashlights all around. Only neighbors are there anymore, the kids are gone.

“Do you want to give a statement?”

“Yes, please, I just witnessed the whole thing. But I’d really like the cops to find this kid and make sure he’s all right. They’ve all left the crime scene, dragging a semi-conscious kid with them.”

“Look, buddy, there’s nothing we can do about that. What’s your address, I’ll send the cops over to talk to you.”

And that was that. I went outside to wait. Nothing. Not a peep. No cops, no ambulance. Nothing.

So then Audrey and I went to bed. Shaken.

And I dreamed about mountains.

[photo guayaba]

Norm and I spent two hours and probably close to twenty bucks playing Big Buck Hunter on Saturday night at Paddy’s Well in Fishtown. I’m telling you, this is the best arcade game in the world. Anyone who wants to play soon, you’re on! Cheap drinks, good buddies at a dive bar with fun arcade games. You really can’t beat that for a late night weekend.

And as always, it felt oh so good.

Among all the other crazy stuff going on today, my good friend Steve’s first book just came out today, and I highly recommend everyone picking up a copy. It’s getting fantastic reviews all over the place and it’s great to support a new author. The hardcover is only $16 on Amazon right now, but you can also pick it up at your local bookseller (support the indies!).

From Entertainment Weekly:

In this aptly titled tome, journalist Kurutz relates a year in the lives of two rival New York-based Rolling Stones tribute bands: Sticky Fingers and the Blushing Brides. The subject of copycat acts has been covered in various media almost as extensively as the Jagger/Richards songbook, and Kurutz doesn’t offer any fresh insight. But this is still a funny, poignant look at people who may believe that, to quote the Blushing Brides singer, “we kick the Rolling Stones’ asses live” - though they have to do so at an Elks Lodge. It’s only a book about fake rock & roll, but we like it. B+ -Clark Collis

Good luck, Steve.

[UPDATE: Listen to his interview today on Talk of the Nation on NPR]

On this past gorgeous springtime Saturday morning, Audrey and I ran our first “competitive” running event ever. It was a 5k race to raise awareness for the Clean Air Council. Our buddy Roz organized Team IndyHall Fit Club which included a bunch of blogging buds including Sara and Scott. After our half-assed attempt at pre-run yoga (see evidence below), I pounded a Steaz - I swear to God the strongest energy drink I’ve ever had - and it was off for a mile and a half up West River Drive along the Schuylkill and back.

I have to say, for our first time, we didn’t do half bad:

Feelin’ groovy, just after the race:

And on our way back home, the lot of us decided it would be awesomely cliché of us to run the Philly museum steps (á la Rocky). Fun! Yes, we nerdz.

[thanks for cheering us on and taking awesome photos, Marisa!]

Followers of this blog will know that I like views from high places. My buddy BlackmailIsMyLife just got a chance to snap some photos from the top of the new Comcast tower today. Pretty hot stuff!

[photo link]

Man, we have been so crazy busy of late, it feels like time has flown by. This weekend, Audrey and I finally got a chance to mellow out, plant some tomato plants and herbs and relax in our new backyard. Yes, we have a hammock in our yard. And yes, it’s fabulous.

My brother Dave and I used to sit around and challenge each other to come up with the best wishes for a genie. I believe he has cracked the code once and for all.

It occurred to me today that there might be a loophole in the genie wish system, that one of you out there could exploit. Should the time come that you find a genie lamp and get three wishes you’ll be glad you read this. Hopefully you don’t find one of those genies that only give you one wish, LAME! right? One wish, and you know you can’t wish for more wishes, not with those cheap genies… actually I think the “wish for more wishes” loophole has long been fixed. There’s no way they’d fall for that one anymore… [read more]

And much to my chagrin, she still doesn’t have a blog! So I’m reposting this great story she emailed her friends last night. By the way, she lives in the Mission in San Francisco, for geographical context.

today was also the day of crazy homeless and/or cracked-out people being nice to me. i crossed the street on a red today, because it was a one-way, and i could clearly see that there were no cars coming, for blocks and blocks, and HOLY SHIT! flava flav was totally also doing the same thing, coming toward me. so flava stopped, frantically spread out his arms, looked both ways and he stood in the road and pretended he was stopping traffic for me. pantomime. hugely hammed up.

i gave him that point-the-finger-at-you-cause-i-represent coolness, and nodded with a smirk, and he was all “AH HA HA! you have a nice day!!!”

i was like, you too, buddy.

you think i am making this up, but there is a cracky homeless guy who patrols our neighborhood looking EXACTLY like flav, and he must know it, because not only does he look just like him in the face area and body area, but he appropriates his style of dress by wearing the humongous clock around his neck and generally wearing oversized jackets and stupid sunglasses. (sans the spendy gold grill, of course,) the resemblance is kind of eerie, but then you think, well, how many times have i thought that the ACTUAL flava flav looks just like some crackhead in my neighborhood? and then it all makes sense.

yes. that special street person chose me today, out of thousands. and i was damn glad.

i don’t know what it was about me today, but even the cops who stand at the top of the escalator in the light rail system, checking for people who don’t have transfers, in order to give them $150 fines (because it is ridiculously easy to hop on the trains through the back door and get a free ride – until!), but even they were, “i hope you have a transfer, cause we don’t wanna give you a ticket, little lady. that’s a nice smile you got.”

then the small policeperson complimented my purple plastic seashell belt. the one my brother says looks like a stick-em-up-on-the-wall air freshener, which, in fact, when we were children were indeed called “stick-ups.” i remember the commercial, and it must have affected me deeply. (I just checked with google, and they’re still called that.)

Stay Kool. Be true. And watch out for the devil, people.

(Shot last night at the Penn Treaty Market on the corner of Girard & Frankford)

After a rollercoaster of a house-buying, mortgage-getting, Fishtown-loving, Fishtown-hating, cold-featin’, day-dreamin’ process, we FINALLY closed on this beautiful house this morning. Here’s me, pretending to sign one of the 1,000,000 legal documents signing my life away:

So Audrey and I are officially homeowners. Who’da thought! Us hippies. Crazy. We’ll have you all over for a fun party to celebrate very soon!

My friend Adam has a band called The War on Drugs. If you’re into psychedelic/country/shoegaze (whoa, that’s a description if I ever saw one), or bands like Panda Bear et al, head over to Ye Olde Pitchfork where you can download his EP for free. His new album, Wagonwheel Blues, is coming out in just a few weeks on Secretly Canadian, so stay tuned.

We’re going to see them play at the Khyber tonight in Philly. I’ll probably post some video on yvynyl live.

By the way, if you like music, I’ve been posting like crazyman over on my Tumblr site, yvynyl.tumblr.com, all music all the time. Check it.

Wow! This just made me daydream about a move to northern New Mexico all the more! Taos Ski Valley, one of the most beautiful ski resorts in America and one of the last hold-outs to the archaic view that snowboarders somehow make skiing suck is letting boarders on the mountain. I can’t wait. And look at this dude - this is so hard core - sleeping overnight in probably sub-zero temps to be “FIRST!” Sick, bro. (Yeah, I reserve the right to say “sick, bro” on my blog when I’m talking about skiing.)

Thanks, Backcountry Blog and Adventure Blog for the great news!